


Mine

by jdrush



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Banter, F/M, First Kiss, Humor, M/M, Sherlock Being Sherlock, he's trying folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:28:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29269506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdrush/pseuds/jdrush
Summary: Sherlock stakes his claim.
Relationships: Sarah Sawyer/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, sarah sawyer/other
Comments: 10
Kudos: 63





	Mine

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: These characters belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Moffat and Gatiss, and BBC1.  
> AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm slowly uploading some of my old stories to AO3. This one was originally posted to my livejournal April, 2011.  
> No betas were harmed in the making of this fic. All mistakes are mine.

**FRIDAY, MAY 7, 2011**

“That movie was amazing!” John enthused, passing the sugar bowl to his date.

“I know!” Sarah agreed, measuring one single spoonful before passing it back to John. “Helena was simply brilliant.”

“As always,” John noted, adding sugar to his own cup before replacing the bowl on the table.

“And Stephen Fry as the Cheshire Cat? They should have given him his own film.”

“The Jabberwocky was pure perfection. Just the way I imagined it when I read the book as a boy.”

“Of course, Johnny Depp was a perfect Mad Hatter.”

John chuckled at that. “You women and Johnny Depp. I don't get it.”

“Jealous?” Sarah asked, flirtatiously batting her eyelashes.

“Not hardly,” John replied, flashing her his most charming smile. “After all, you’re here with me and not with him.”

“That’s only because he didn’t ask me out tonight.”

“Oh, really?!” John teased, and Sarah laughed and John couldn’t help but think how much he really liked this girl. Sarah was pretty and funny and smart and so very understanding. After all, there were few women around who would go out with a man again after almost being shot by a Chinese acrobat on their first date. Six weeks into their relationship, and he could already tell that Sarah was a keeper.

If only he could banish all those disturbing late-night thoughts he kept having about his flatmate, everything would be perfect.

Suddenly, as if somehow sensing John was thinking about him, Sherlock magically appeared in the kitchen , dressed in his typical striped pyjama bottoms, baggy old tee-shirt and sapphire-blue silk dressing gown. He had been so quiet John had never even heard him leave his bedroom.

“So sorry, Sherlock,” he quickly apologized. “I didn’t know you were home. I hope we didn‘t disturb you.”

“Evening, Sherlock,” Sarah called out, cheerily.

“We went to the cinema,” John explained.

“The new ‘Alice in Wonderland‘,” Sarah added. “It was smashing.”

Sherlock didn’t respond to Sarah’s presence. Didn’t say a word, in fact. His entire attention was on his flatmate. With quiet determination, he walked right over to where John was sitting, pulled him up and out of his chair, and mashed his lips to those of the startled doctor.

After months of living together, John was used to Sherlock’s outrageous and inappropriate behaviour, but this was the limit! He grasped Sherlock’s shoulders, fully intending to push him away, but then. . .he didn’t. His brain finally caught up to his body’s fight-or-flight instinctive reaction. This was Sherlock. Kissing him. In their kitchen. And it was incredible. Amazing. Spectacular. Perfect. And a hundred other superlatives he couldn’t possibly think of because his brain was dangerously close to short-circuiting.

Hands that only moments before were prepared to push away now wrapped themselves around the back of Sherlock’s neck and pulled him deeper into the kiss, smashing his mouth to Sherlock’s sinfully soft plush lips and sweet Jesus on the cross, if it had been perfect before, now it was magical and sublime and John felt he could die right then and there and it wouldn’t matter because he would NEVER be happier than he was at just that exact moment.

Sherlock’s hands, meanwhile, skimmed down John’s sides and slipped around his waist, coming to rest on the doctor’s bum, pulling him closer, crushing him between Sherlock and the table, their bodies aligned, the evidence of their arousal known to them both, and there had to be a word beyond perfection in some language, but John was too busy losing himself in Sherlock’s kiss, melting into Sherlock’s embrace to even care what it might be.

After about a minute of Sherlock’s tongue becoming intimately acquainted with John’s, he pulled away, ignoring John’s small whimper of disappointment. Steel-grey eyes held John captive as he stated, simply, “Mine.” And the timber of Sherlock’s voice, the smooth, smoky sexiness of it slithered down John’s spine and settled in his stomach, setting his entire body on fire.

“Yours,” came out in a broken, breathy whisper, even before John was aware that the word had formed in his, admittedly, lust-fogged mind.

Sherlock’s mouth quirked in a sly half-grin. “Yes,“ he murmured, brushing his thumb over John’s lower lip, causing the smaller man to tremble with want. Tearing his intense gaze away from John, he finally acknowledged the other occupant in the room, nodding in the gobsmacked woman‘s direction. “Evening, Sarah,” he said, and casually strolled out of the kitchen, leaving the wreckage of his actions in his wake.

It was silent for a few moments before Sarah’s nervous giggle broke though. “Well, now I know how Alice felt when she fell in that rabbit hole.”

“I. . .I can explain. . .” a blushing John stammered.

Eyebrow arched. “Really?”

John shook his head in defeat. “No. Not really,” he answered, sheepishly.

“I didn’t think so,” and she began gathering up her things.

“Listen, Sarah, please. It’s not. . .that is. . .we don’t. . .we’ve never. . .I. . .”

“Well, this was lovely evening,” she said with a tight smile. “I’ll see you Monday.”

“You will?” he asked, hopefully. Sarah had always been such an understanding girl. She knew Sherlock was a bit. . .odd. They’d go out somewhere nice, talk it all through--maybe get a few laughs out of it--then. . .

“At the clinic,” she clarified angrily, heading towards the door.

Or not.

Seeing Sherlock relaxing in his customary easy chair in the sitting room, she pronounced, “Congratulations. You won,” and stormed out of the flat.

Sherlock just smiled behind his book. Of COURSE he had won.

Was there ever any doubt?

He didn’t have long to enjoy his victory, however, before he was confronted by a very flushed, very angry John Watson. “What the HELL do you think you’re doing?!” he demanded.

“Reading?” Sherlock replied, dryly.

“In the kitchen, you insane git!”

“Proving a point.”

“A point,” John repeated slowly.

“An experiment, if you will.”

John rubbed the bridge of his nose, already feeling the headache coming on. “Sherlock, not everything in life needs to be an experi. . .you know, why am I even bothering? You don’t give a damn what I have to say anyway.”

“That’s not true,” Sherlock protested.

“So, what point you were trying to prove?” John asked, cutting right to the chase. “What an utter arse you are as a flatmate?”

Ignoring John’s little insult, Sherlock instead answered, “I was attempting to prove that she was all wrong for you.”

“What?!”

“Look, I’m sure Sarah is a nice girl. . .”

“A very nice girl, yes.”

“But she’s not what you want.”

“Is that so? And you know this, how. . .?” Sherlock just gave him a look, and John choked off a bitter laugh. “Of course. You’re Sherlock Holmes. You know EVERYTHING.”

Sherlock shrugged. “Maybe not EVERYTHING, but yes, I know this.”

“Okay, Mr. Holmes. . .so what exactly DO I want?”

“I should think that was rather obvious after your little display in the kitchen.”

“That. . .it meant nothing,” John bluffed, embarrassed by his earlier actions. “I was just startled. I didn’t know what to do.” Getting more flustered, he blurted out, “I mean, you kissed me!”

“And you most certainly kissed me back,” Sherlock calmly pointed out. “And it definitely felt as if you knew exactly what you were doing.”

John felt his cheeks burn at Sherlock’s comment. “It was reflex, that’s all.”

“And what you said as you ‘reflexively’ kissed me back?” Sherlock inquired, eyebrow quirked high.

Panic flickered across John’s face. ‘Yours’. He hadn’t meant to say it. He really hadn’t. Maybe he had thought it. Occasionally. Hoped. Wished. Dreamed. But never imagined. . .“I didn’t mean it,” John mumbled.

“Yes, you did.” Closing his book and placing it off to the side, Sherlock then leaned back in his chair, his hands steepled beneath his chin. “I’ve heard you, John,” he began, his voice slow and low and deep, and against his will, John felt his knees almost buckle. There was nothing quite so seductive as Sherlock’s ’deducting’ voice. “Late at night. You try to be quiet, but there’s always that little tell-tale shift of the mattress as you reach into your bedside stand, the slight squeak of the bedsprings, the distinct sound of slick skin sliding against slick skin, the tiny, half-whispered moans and sighs as your finger slips into your. . .”

“Oh, God--you listened at my bedroom door?!” John exclaimed, scandalized. Those sounds were not for Sherlock to hear. Ever.

“Yes. Was I not supposed to?”

“Boundaries, Sherlock,” John stated, for perhaps the hundredth time.

Sherlock waved a dismissive hand. “Yes, yes. Privacy. Personal space. I remember.”

“Try to exercise it once in a while.”

“It doesn’t change the fact I heard you.”

“I could have been thinking of Sarah, you know,” John argued.

“Could have. . .but not. We both know who you were thinking about, and since you obviously weren’t going to do anything about it, I had no choice but to prod you into action.” Gracefully rising from his chair, Sherlock stood in front of John and smiled, a predator’s smile. John couldn‘t help but think of Sherlock as a lion stalking its prey. . .and he was a defenseless gazelle, completely at his mercy. “Now, are we going to end this charade,” Sherlock purred, “or are we going to continue pretending that we don’t feel what we feel, because, quite frankly, that’s getting a tad dull.”

Fear and excitement warred with each other within John. This couldn’t be happening. Sherlock couldn’t be offering what John thought. “I really have no idea what you are insinuating.”

“I’m not insinuating anything, John. Stop pretending to be so obtuse. You’ve been conflicted over your feelings for me for months. You want me, but you shy away from those feelings. . .”

“Sherlock. . .”

“You protest that you’re not gay, but your attraction to me tells you otherwise. . .”

“I really don’t want you to. . .”

“I’m not the first. A boy in your past. At prep school, perhaps, or uni? Your roommate, maybe, or someone from one of your classes. It was only supposed to be an experiment, but you liked it. Better than when you experimented with girls. It felt good. . .right. . .”

“God, Sherlock, just stop!” John all but begged, chagrined once more at how easily Sherlock could surmise intimate details about his life. The great detective, however, was just warming up.

“You gave it up when you enlisted. Pushed those forbidden thoughts and feelings aside for Queen and country. You denied a part of yourself, pretended it was just a lark. . .”

“I really hate you right now,” John muttered, darkly.

“Then you met me, and all those emotions flooded back. The night you moved in, you felt me out at Angelo’s, trying to ascertain my proclivities. . .”

“I did not!”

“I may not be good at it, but I DO recognize flirting when I see it, John.”

“I was not flirting with you,” John disputed. “I was making conversation, that’s all. Just trying to learn something about my new flatmate.”

“You only went after Sarah when you thought I wasn’t interested.”

John scoffed. “Of all the egotistical. . .”

Sherlock stepped forward into John’s personal space. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

John took a step back. “You’re wrong.”

Sherlock advanced another step. “I’m right.”

John retreated another step. “Even if you were. . .”

Sherlock pressed one step closer. “I am.”

John backed up one more step, right into a wall. In more ways than one. “Whatever. You shouldn’t have done that to Sarah.”

“She had to know that her pursuit of you was futile. Sometimes a clean cut is the kindest.” Sherlock took one last step, closing the gap between them and whispered into John’s ear, “Now, are we going to bring this evening to its inevitable conclusion?”

“Inevitable?” John repeated, incredulously. “You think it’s inevitable that we shag?”

“Most definitely. Pretty much from the first moment we met, in fact. Are you going to deny that you’re hard right now?” Sherlock’s voice dropped an octave--and two decibels--as smooth and dark as melted chocolate as he murmured, “I am.”

“You are unbelievable.”

“I know.”

“You just outed me to my girlfriend.”

“EX-girlfriend.”

“And now you want to have sex?”

“Too soon?”

And for some reason, those words, combined with the confused look on Sherlock’s face made John burst into laughter. “Oh, God, Sherlock,” he choked out between high-pitched giggles, “I honestly don’t know what to do with you!”

“You don’t?” a disappointed pout crossed Sherlock’s lips. “I had rather hoped you were skilled in the ways of homoerotic pleasures of the flesh.”

“Stop that,” John scolded, lightly.

“What?”

“That. . .charming rogue act. It’s not working.”

Sherlock flashed one of those rare deadly smiles that caused John’s heart to skip a beat. “Oh, it’s working a little bit. C’mon, John--the damage is done. Might as well enjoy the rest of the night.”

“What happened to ‘married to your work’?”

“You can be my bit on the side.”

“Lovely. That‘s always been my life’s ambition--to be someone’s tart.”

“Hmmm, MY tart,” Sherlock declared possessively, tipping John’s head up and capturing the doctor’s mouth once more. This time, John responded quickly and eagerly. His fingers shook as he untied Sherlock’s robe and pushed it from slim shoulders, all the while kissing Sherlock with a hunger he had never known.

“Sherlock. . I. . .you. . .” he stammered in between kisses.

“Yes. Us,” Sherlock agreed, breaking apart for a moment to yank his tee-shirt off. “Naked. Now.”

“Oh, God, yes,” John panted, breathlessly.

“Your bedroom or mine?” Sherlock mumbled against John’s lips, nimble fingers grasping and pulling at John’s jumper.

“That. . .” John chuckled as the jumper was pulled over his head and tossed across the room, “is beyond cheesy.”

“I could do worse.”

“I’m sure you could.”

“Your choice.”

For an answer, John shoved at Sherlock with all his might, rugby-tackling him onto the sofa. Sherlock looked up at John, pleasantly surprised. “Ah. You like it rough. Yes, I can definitely work with this.”

“Sherlock, shut up,” John commanded, his crushing kiss ensuring it.

* * * * * *

“So, did I miss anything?” Sherlock asked, wrapping his arm tighter around John’s waist to prevent the smaller man from rolling off the narrow sofa. They should probably shower and move to a bed, but John still hadn’t chosen which bedroom he wanted to retire to, and as Sherlock was enjoying the cuddling almost as much as their rather wild, very passionate, wholly pleasurable tumble, he wasn’t complaining about the cramped, sticky conditions.

“No, you pretty much nailed it,” John replied, snuggling close, his head pillowed on Sherlock’s bare sweaty chest, relishing how much better reality was than any fantasy he had ever harbored.

“Tell me.”

John grinned at the demand. Sometimes he thought the only one more impressed with Sherlock’s deductions than he could be was Sherlock himself. “His name was Adam, and yes, I did meet him at uni. He was a year ahead of me, but we were both in the same chem lab. He wasn’t the first boy I had ever noticed, but he was the first I worked up the courage to approach. We were together for a term before he transferred to another school. We weren’t in love--more friends with benefits. But god, the sex was good.” A happy, reminiscing sigh. “Great, actually. We tried just about everything. It was quite educational. Liberating.”

“Is he the one who taught you that swirly tongue thing?”

“You liked that, did you?” John asked, smugly.

“I may have to ask Mycroft to set him up for a knighthood.”

“That would be an interesting presentation ceremony.”

“What of the rest of it?” Sherlock inquired, getting back on topic.

“As you said--there were others over the years. A handful or so. One-nighters. A couple long-term. I didn’t give it up when I enlisted, however. It made a pleasant diversion out in the desert.”

“It’s always something,” Sherlock grumbled, disappointed in his own shortcomings. “And the girls? They’re not just covers. . .”

“No, I liked girls, too. Still do, obviously.” A short, self-depreciating chuckle. “That makes me sound a bit promiscuous, doesn’t it?”

Sherlock tensed up. “You’d rather be here with Sarah,” he stated softly, not really sure he wanted to hear John’s response.

“I‘m right where I want to be,” John answered, pressing his lips against the base of Sherlock’s elegant throat. “If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t have kissed you in the kitchen, right?”

“I thought it was ’reflex’,” Sherlock reminded him.

John cringed. “Did I really say that?”

“You did. But we were in the middle of an impressive row at the time, so it’s understandable. And, to be fair, I suppose I did blind-side you.”

“You definitely could have chosen a more opportune moment,” John remarked, in his understated way.

“I’ve waited my entire life for you, John,” Sherlock replied candidly. “I got tired of waiting.”

John didn’t say anything right away, stunned by Sherlock’s revelation. “Sherlock. . .I’ve been here the whole time. You could have just said something to me, anytime.”

“I was going to, but then you started seeing Sarah. At first, it was just an occasional night out, so I figured it didn’t mean anything. But recently, it’s become more serious.” Long, slim fingers stroked tenderly through John’s hair as he added, “I had to make my move before it was too late.”

“But why tonight?” John pressed. “And why couldn’t you have at least waited 15 more minutes until she went home?”

“And if she hadn’t gone home?” Sherlock countered. “What if this had been the night you decided to ‘get off with her’, as you so euphemistically put it? I couldn’t take that chance. This,” he gestured between the two of them, “you and me--it was too important.” He paused for a moment before asking, “Was I wrong to tell you?”

“No,” John answered honestly. “Just the way you did it. We ended up hurting a very nice person tonight, Sherlock.”

“It was unavoidable, John. Either now, or later--she had to be cut loose.”

“That. . .is pretty heartless,” John said in that slightly disapproving ‘not good’ tone he had perfected.

“Sometimes the truth is,” Sherlock noted. “Tell me, would it have hurt her less if you had continued to see her, knowing deep down she wasn’t who you really wanted to be with? Worried that someday she would figure out she would always be second in your life?”

“No, I suppose not,” John agreed, reluctantly. Dammit, he hated when Sherlock’s cold, calculating logic was on the mark.

“That’s what I thought.”

“But maybe--with some warning of what was going on in that complex mind of yours--I could have let her down easy, let her know it wasn’t her fault, that she’s special and will someday find someone who will put her first.”

“And that would have helped?” Sherlock asked, curiously.

“I don’t know. She might have still been upset but at least she’d know the whole story. And maybe I wouldn’t feel so guilty right now.” John sighed wearily. “What a mess.”

“It would have been a bigger mess if your relationship with her had progressed further. You know that.”

“I suppose. It just seems unfair to her. I mean, here we are, together, and she’s out in the cold, and she did nothing wrong except. . .except she wasn’t you.” Pressing his face into Sherlock’s chest, he groaned, “God, how am I going to face her on Monday?”

Sherlock pondered that for a moment--how much John thought of others, caring about their feelings. He had never been very good at that. But he DID care about John. Very much, in fact. More than he ever thought he could care about anyone. And in truth, he honestly had nothing against Sarah--she was decent enough and she had made John happy. And in the end that’s all he wanted: John’s happiness. Maybe. . .there was something he could do, something to lessen the sting of the break-up, something to ease John’s guilt.

The idea came to him in a flash, like all his best ones did. He knew how to make this situation better, for everyone involved. All he needed was a plan. . .

“It’ll all be good,” Sherlock pledged, pressing a kiss to the top of John’s head. “Trust me.”

* * * * * *

The visitor who appeared on Sarah Sawyer’s doorstep early Sunday morning was unexpected. And unwanted. “Oh, God, what are YOU doing here?” she groaned unhappily.

“May I come in, Sarah?” he asked, politely.

“Sherlock, I’m not in the mood for this.”

“Please. Just a moment.”

If Sarah knew just how infrequently Sherlock used the ‘p’ word, she would have understood its importance. “Are you here to rub it in? He’s all yours. Isn’t that enough?”

“Please.”

Maybe it was the second ‘please’ , or perhaps it was the soft look of contrition that was so foreign to Sherlock’s face. Either way, she opened the door and ushered him in, patently ignoring the love bite on his neck that his scarf couldn’t hide. “Fine. What do you want?”

“About the other night. . .”

Sarah held up her right hand in the classic ‘stop’ pose. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

But Sherlock continued, ignoring her protestations. “I just don’t want you to blame John for what happened. It was my fault. If I had been more. . .forthright. . .in my feelings towards him, he never would have asked you out.”

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?” Sarah asked, incredulously. “To know I was the consolation prize?”

“I’m just trying to explain that I set all this in motion.”

“You don’t have to. I could see everything for myself. I know you’ve been jealous of me.”

“Jealous?” Sherlock spoke the word as if it felt strange on his tongue. He could really turn on the acting skills when needed.

Sarah fairly rolled her eyes. “You couldn’t have been more obvious if you had tried. The constant stream of text messages when we were out together. The gleeful way you’d swoop in and interrupt our dates.. . .”

“That was work,“ Sherlock disputed.

“You enjoy having John wrapped around your little finger, always at your beck and call. And now you’ve got his undivided attention--the very thing you’ve wanted all along.”

“John doesn‘t seem opposed to the situation,” Sherlock pointedly reminded her.

“Yeah, I kind of pieced that together on my own. Regardless of what you think of me, Sherlock, I’m not an idiot.”

“Yes. . .I mean, no. I mean. . .about Friday night. . .”

Sarah laughed, bitterly. “You’re just not going to let this go, are you?” Crossing her arms over her chest, she huffed, “Okay, what about Friday night?”

He hesitated for a moment, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets and appearing to collect his thoughts before stating, “I admit I could have been a bit more tactful. . .”

“A bit?” Sarah repeated, sarcastically. “You think you could have been a BIT more tactful about snogging my boyfriend. . .”

“Ex,” Sherlock mumbled under his breath.

“. . .in front of me while we were on a date? That is an EXCELLENT deduction, Mr. Holmes. I can see why you’re considered such a great detective!”

Sherlock flinched at the heated diatribe--he really was quite a good actor. “My. . .people skills. . . are a tad lacking,” he continued, haltingly.

“So I’ve noticed.”

“And my experience with this kind of. . .situation. . .is quite limited.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” her tone anything but sympathetic. “Is there a point to this conversation, Sherlock?”

Why was this so much more difficult than Sherlock had anticipated? A quick run in, a fake apology--maybe with some convincing crocodile tears--and a quick exit. That had been the plan. But now, seeing Sarah in front of him--strong, dignified, beautiful in her anger. No manipulative tears, no pleading or whining or ‘why me-ing’ that her boyfriend had thrown her over for another man, as so many other women would have been doing in the same situation. It was obvious what John saw in Sarah. She WAS special. . .

Which just confirmed he was doing the right thing.

“I know I’ve hurt you by my actions,” he said. “We both have. It was unfortunate.”

“That’s one word for it.”

“But John knew nothing about it. He was innocent in all this.”

“It‘s hard to be innocent with your tongue in your flatmate’s mouth,” Sarah deadpanned.

Sherlock smiled, wryly. Yes, he could definitely see why John had fancied this girl. “Indeed. However, it remains that my actions the other night were as much of a surprise to him as they were to you. And I hope you will bear John no ill will for my misdeeds.” It was perhaps the most sincere statement Sherlock had ever uttered.

Sincere or not, Sarah had had enough. “Are you done?”

“Yes, I believe so. Thank you for your time.” With that, he turned swiftly, his long coat swirling dramatically around him. At the front door, he looked back and said, “I know you don’t believe it right now, but this will all work out. I promise.”

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you. Nor care.” The loud slam of the door echoed through the hallway. Step one of his plan was complete.

 _Onto step two_ , he thought with a grin as he made his way out of the building, texting as he went.

* * * * * *

Monday morning found Sarah sitting alone in the coffee shop across from the clinic, having her usual breakfast of a large skim latte and a cinnamon scone. Normally, John would be sitting across from her, and they’d be telling each other about their weekends, or reminiscing about their recent date or he’d be relating his latest bizarre crime-fighting adventure and there would be laughter and smiles. But those days were in the past now, and Sarah wasn’t sure if she was more angry or more sad over that fact.

She was silently cursing out Sherlock Holmes--yet again--when a tall, distinguished gentleman approached her table. Sarah noticed he was carrying a cup of tea (Prince of Wales, from the tag) in one hand and a very expensive Burberry umbrella in the other, though the skies were bright and sunny. She also couldn’t help but notice that his exquisitely tailored suit probably cost more than a year’s rent on her flat. “Excuse me. Doctor Sawyer?” he inquired, his voice soft and refined.

“Yes?” she answered, trying to place the man’s face, but coming up embarrassingly blank. “I’m sorry--do I know you?” Surely she would remember someone this debonair and handsome?

The man smiled. A friendly smile. Not one of the fake, overly gregarious smiles he usually bestowed upon people. This was a smile that reached his grey blue eyes and made them sparkle. “I believe we have a mutual acquaintance,” he said, gracefully sliding into the empty chair across from the startled--but intrigued--woman, “although I hope you won’t hold that against me.” Stretching out his right hand, he added, “Allow me introduce myself. . .”

* * * * * *

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” John shouted as he barged through the front door that night.

 _Ah, cat’s out of the bag_ , Sherlock thought, even as he soothed, “Now, John. . .calm down. Mrs. Hudson will . . .”

“Calm down?!” he interrupted, stalking over to the sofa, where Sherlock was sprawled in all his elegantly boneless glory.

“Yes. You’re getting very emotional.”

“Can’t imagine why!”

“It was a perfectly reasonable solution,“ Sherlock said in a voice that was maddeningly composed.

“Reasonable?! You set Sarah up with Mycroft!”

“It was only coffee.”

“Yes, I know. She couldn’t stop talking about the ‘lovely man’ she met in the coffee shop. You could have picked me up off the floor when she told us his name was Mycroft. I mean, how many flipping Mycrofts are running around out there?”

“Hopefully only the one,” Sherlock quipped. “The world probably can’t handle more than that. Though knowing my brother, I’m sure he’s got some kind of cloning project in the works somewhere. . .”

“Jesus, Sherlock--don’t even joke!”

Sherlock pressed his fingers together under his chin as he inquired, “So. . .you two got along today, then?”

John paused a moment, thrown by the change in subject. “Wha. . .who?”

“You and Sarah, of course. She’s talking to you?”

A confused furrow creased John‘s brow. “Um. . .yeah.”

Sherlock smiled. “Good.”

John shook his head in frustration. “Sherlock, you’re missing the point here.“

“Which is. . .?”

“You set up my girlfriend. . .”

“EX,” Sherlock once more corrected.

“With your brother.”

“I thought the point was avoiding an awkward working environment,” Sherlock said. “That IS what you were worried about the other night, was it not? And I thought. . .”

“See, that’s the problem,” John cut in, angrily, “you THINK!”

“And if more people did so, this would be a much better world,” Sherlock retorted.

“Dare I even ask how your massive intellect conceived THIS cock-up?”

“Sarah was free, obvious. And Mycroft. . .” a beat, then softer, “has been on his own for many years. It was a sensible match.”

“A sensible. . .Sherlock, you can barely tolerate the man!”

Sherlock deigned to push himself into a seated position. “You yourself pointed out that Sarah is a very nice girl. She’s smart, funny, self-reliant, and she’s rather handy to have on your side in a brawl. And regardless of what I think of my brother, he’s well educated, has a good-paying job, is quite cultured, and he’s hardly lacking in the looks department. Not to mention that he obviously knows all the five-star restaurants in London. . .intimately. Just because I can’t abide him doesn’t negate the fact that he’s quite a catch.”

“Mycroft? A catch?” John scoffed. “The man you predicted will start World War III?”

“Perhaps the love of a good woman will curtail his Machiavellian tendencies. God knows we’ve tried everything else.”

John flopped into a nearby easy chair. “I can’t believe this!”

“I TOLD you to trust me.”

“Bloody Mycroft!”

“AND. . .they hit it off, which proved my theory,” Sherlock said, smugly.

John just glared at him. “You know, I’m getting sick of your theories. Sarah is NOT one of your bleeding experiments!”

Sherlock wisely refrained from commenting on that statement, saying instead, “In fact, Mycroft texted me earlier to say she’s cleared all security checks and they’re going out on their first date tomorrow night.”

“I think *I’VE* fallen into the rabbit hole!” John muttered under his breath.

“Hm?”

“Nevermind.”

“John,” Sherlock said, as he stepped up and over the coffee table to crouch near the seated man, “didn’t I tell you it would all work out? Now you and I can be together, and you don’t have to worry about Sarah. Aren’t you going to say ‘Brilliant, Sherlock’? Because it bloody well is.”

“I’m not listening to this,” John announced, pushing himself up and out of the chair. “I’m going to bed.”

“Ooh! Good idea,” Sherlock happily agreed, rising as well.

John pointed to Sherlock, “You,” then pointed to the leather lump against the wall, “--on the sofa.”

“Well, that’s no fun,” Sherlock pouted.

“Goodnight, Sherlock,” John stated decisively, turning to leave.

“John, wait,” Sherlock said, grabbing onto the smaller man’s arm. “What’s the problem?”

John turned back to face his. . .what? Flatmate? Friend? Lover? All of the above?. . .and snapped out, “You.”

“Me?”

Shaking his arm to break Sherlock’s hold, John railed, “You did this. All this. Planned everything out. Played with me and Sarah, even your own brother. Played with our lives, our emotions. Made decisions and never asked what we wanted. It doesn’t even bother you that you manipulated all of us, does it? As long as Sherlock Holmes gets whatever he wants, that’s all that matters. I understand that your knowledge of the solar system is limited, but the fact is the universe doesn’t revolve around you, Sherlock.“

Sherlock’s flinch this time couldn’t be attributed to acting. This wasn’t how it was supposed to turn out. John was supposed to be happy that Sarah had found someone, that she wouldn’t be alone. That he wouldn’t have to feel guilty for hurting her. Sherlock was reminded that this was why he had always avoided interpersonal relationships--they were so messy and complicated. “Is that what you think?” he asked, hurt and disappointment lacing his words. “That I did this just for me? I did this for you too, John. The two of us. . .”

“Sherlock. . .” John sighed in that exasperated tone which seemed natural when dealing with a Holmes.

“I heard you, night after night. Heard how you desired me. Heard your true feelings, but you never spoke of them.”

“I didn’t think there was a point, as they weren’t returned.”

Sherlock gently cupped John‘s face in his large, slender hands. “But they are,” he emphatically declared.

“I know that now,” John replied softly, nuzzling Sherlock’s palm.

“I was wrong not to tell you sooner,” Sherlock confessed, his thumb tenderly stroking over John’s cheek. “And my duplicity forced you to settle for Sarah.”

“It was hardly settling, Sherlock. I really liked her.”

“But given a choice. . .” Sherlock pushed.

A resigned sigh. “I’d take you. Every time. You know that.”

“And Sarah, being a clever girl, would have figured that out eventually, making the break-up a foregone conclusion. At least this way, you and I are together, and she and Mycroft have a chance to find some happiness, too. That’s got to be a good thing, right?”

Sherlock looked so earnest, so proud of himself, and John realized, _this is Sherlock trying to be empathic_ . In his own warped, clumsy way, he was trying to do something nice for someone else--probably for the first time in his life--and John had ruined it, accusing him of being selfish. Was he ever going to understand this infuriating, confusing creature? “You said Mycroft had been on his own. . .”

“Widowed,” Sherlock explained, dropping his hands from John’s face, and wrapping them around the smaller man’s waist. “Six years now.”

“I didn’t know,” John answered, a pang of sympathy twisting inside. “So. . .the ring on his right hand. . .”

“Never takes it off. I always thought Madeline was too good for him, but he was devoted to her. Hasn’t even looked at another woman. . .before now.”

John felt a smile stretching his lips. “You actually did something nice for your brother?”

Sherlock bristled at the notion. “I thought if he was. . .distracted. . .he’d have less time to keep us under constant surveillance.”

John’s smile widened, clearly not buying the reason. “Okay.”

“And that it’d be handy to have him owing ME a favour for a change.”

“That could be useful,” John agreed, humouring Sherlock.

“And mummy’s been after us for years for grandchildren. It’s time Mycroft pulled his own weight . . .substantial as it is.”

“You two really do bring sibling rivalry to a whole new level.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet.”

“Thank you for the warning.”

“Are you. . .you’re not angry at me for what I did?” Sherlock asked, his tone tentative, almost childlike in his desire to please.

“No, not really,” John assured him. “Now that I understand why.” Gently caressing Sherlock’s elegant cheek with the back of his hand, he added, “You did good, Sherlock.”

Sherlock beamed at the praise. “So I don‘t have to sleep on the sofa?”

John laughed. “Not unless you want to.”

Pulling John close, Sherlock rested his head on the doctor’s shoulder and sighed, “I‘d rather sleep with you.”

Brushing a kiss across Sherlock’s brow, John whispered, “I’d prefer that, too.”

“Where?” Sherlock queried, nuzzling John’s neck.

“Well, your room is closer. . .”

“I like the way you think,” Sherlock smiled, nudging John backwards through the kitchen. As they got to Sherlock’s open bedroom door, however, John hesitated.

“Sherlock, wait. . .I only have one question. If you felt the same way I did--if you were interested in me as more than just a flatmate--why weren’t you honest with me that first night at Angelo’s?”

“I WAS honest with you,” Sherlock insisted. “My work is very important to me, and I wasn’t about to give it up for a good hard shag. Although if I had known about that swirly tongue thing, I might have re-evaluated my stance.”

But John wasn’t thrown off by the attempt at humour. “You thought I’d make you choose between me and your work,” he said, knowingly.

Sherlock shrugged. “Everyone else has,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“So you decided to show me your world instead.”

“Did I mention that I wasn’t good at flirting?”

John‘s laughter came out as more of an undignified snort. “Am I ever going to stop being amazed by you?”

“You want to be amazed?” Sherlock leered, pulling John closer. “Wait until you see the things I’m going to do to you tonight.”

“Hmmm, what kind of things?” John grinned, sliding his hands up and behind Sherlock’s neck.

“Dirty things,” Sherlock rumbled, And there it was again--that deep sexy voice, the one that washed over John like liquid black velvet. “Unspeakable things. Hang-your-head-in-shame-in-church-on-Sunday-morning kind of things.”

John closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “Yes,” he agreed breathlessly. “Just. . .dear God, yes.”

“What are we waiting for then?” Sherlock said, pushing John towards the bed.

As John flopped onto the mattress, he asked, “You DID bin that petrified hedgehog I found in here last week, right?”

Sherlock gave John a blank look, even as he nonchalantly kicked something under the bed. “Um. . .maybe?”

John shook his head fondly and laughed. “I must be mad.”

“As a hatter,” Sherlock concurred, climbing onto the bed, his lips capturing John’s in a joyous, wanton kiss. “But you’re mine.”

THE END


End file.
